In My Youth
by Individual Narrative
Summary: When Harry accidentally became Master of Death, he had no idea it would get him into this level of trouble. A few years into his sabbatical (read: avoiding everyone) for self-improvement, Harry meets Castiel. He should have known that being friends with an angel was tempting his luck too much. But he couldn't help it! You try to resist those big, blue eyes. Eventual Slash.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it, I don't own it. I'm not sure who does, especially with Supernatural, because there are producers and investors and stuff, right? And for Harry Potter don't the movies have separate rights? Yeah, I'm not getting into that, so if you recognize it, it's probably not mine. I'm not making money, or anything that's worth money by writing this. And this is the only time I'm gonna say it. I'm not gonna waste space and mess up my word count by putting this in every chapter, so this applies to the whole story.

**Pairing**: Main pairing for this fic is Harry/Castiel, because I love them both, and they have hardly any long chapter fics. So sad.

**Author's Notes**: You should probably read these before you ask questions in reviews, but they're not necessary. For those of you who want to know about the time-line of this story, it will mostly be taking place during/after Season 4 of Supernatural, as Castiel is a major character, and one of my personal favorites. However it's gonna take a few chapters to get there, we gotta take care of the exposition and all that.

This story is mostly going to be taking place from Harry's point of view. I might put in a few bits from other characters, especially if you guys really wanna see it, or are curious. We'll see how it goes, as this story is a writing in progress.

Because this is a WIP, that also means that if you wanna review with ideas, what you want to happen next, opinions, constructive criticism, etc., it will be much appreciated. I'm feeling pretty flexible with the direction I want the story to go in right now. If you think I've made a mistake, please tell me. It could be a mistake, it could be me taking liberties with the canon, but I'd like to know in case it is a mistake.

This obviously ignores the epilogue in the HP books, but there will be a few other things that will be AU as we go along. Of course, as this is fanfiction, things will change as a result of Harry being different and existing in the Supernatural universe, but the bare bones will probably be the same. Apocalypses are still happening, you know? But as you read you will find that a few things from Harry's past have been tweaked too. This _has _to happen for things to be as they are now. If nothing from Harry's past was different, then nothing from his present would be different, and the epilogue would happen. But don't worry, it's nothing _too_ major.

The other A/N's shouldn't be this long, but this is the beginning of the story, so yeah. Lots of things to be said.

**In My Youth**

**Prologue**

_August 1998_

Harry made his way to the site of Dumbledore's pale tomb, sure of his decision. The Hallows corrupted, they made men do terrible things. They had a sad history, and an especially bloody one in the case of the Wand. No one should have them, and Harry couldn't risk someone taking the Wand from him after the spectacle he made with it during the Final Battle (and really, what the _actual fuck _had he been thinking, making that grand speech in front of all those idiotic, talkative witches and wizards?). It was best this way. He would lay the Elder Wand to rest with Dumbledore, where it should have stayed. He had repaired his beloved holly wand, he didn't need this one that felt like it should be so blood red it was sticky, instead of the pure ivory the wood appeared to be.

But as Harry reached the tomb, a sudden thought struck him. The lid was smooth and unblemished once again, but Harry couldn't help but remember when it had had a large crack running its length, right through its center. What if it happened again? What if another terrible wizard stole the Wand, and the cycle continued as it always had, with this one stick responsible for countless deaths? No, what was he thinking? This was the worst possible hiding place, and crazily predictable of him. He needed to think the way whoever made Portkeys did. Muggles never picked them up because they just looked like inconspicuous pieces of junk on the street. He needed to hide the Hallows (yes, Hallows, because this wasn't just about the Wand anymore) in a similar way. Somewhere completely random that he had no connection to. Somewhere muggle, but somewhere where no one would stumble across them. He would think of something, but hiding the Wand here was definitely not an option.

And what was he thinking, leaving the Stone in the forest like that! Maybe he could take the Stone out of the ring it was set in to hide it (Hermione had once mocked Luna about turning every stone one picked up to see if it was the Resurrection Stone, hiding it in plain site might be a good bet), but right now it was just that, a ring! What if some rule-breaking student was wandering the forest and decided to pick it up? That was a perfectly normal thing to do, especially since, although Harry thought it was ugly, the ring _was _gold. And it wouldn't take long for said student, or whoever else saw the ring, to recognize the symbol set in the stone for what it was, even if it _was _cracked. Who knows how much trouble the Stone could cause in the wrong hands?

Well, that was it, he needed to get his hands on that ring. Harry shoved the Wand back into the mokeskin pouch he had just drew it from and set of towards the Forbidden Forest, doing his best to retrace his steps from a night he could remember far too well. He supposed there was a silver lining to everything after all. Although this one advantage in finding a ring maybe a few minutes or hours faster than he would have otherwise didn't even come close to outweighing the negative effects he was sure that being able to remember the details of the Final Battle (and so many other factors of the war. Sirius, anyone? How about Cedric? Let's not forget the famous face-disintegrating-Quirrel) would have on him. He had never been good with bad memories.

Nearly half an hour and a _Lumos Maxima_ later, Harry finally saw something glinting in the grass to his left. "Please Merlin, let this be it. I have been out here _forever_, and it's _cold_," he muttered under his breath. Bending down, he let out a triumphant hum as he picked up the familiar ring, too tired to do anything more exaggerated.

"Wait a second..." he murmured (and somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that maybe he should take care of this whole talking-to-himself thing, who knew who would overhear and _how _the press would decide to spin his habit once said eavesdropping person told them about it), and held the ring closer to the tip of his wand and squinted at it. The crack in the stone set in the center of the ring was disappearing, the stone appearing to meld together, like watching a tape of the crack forming on a slow rewind, until all Harry could see was a smooth surface, and an uninterrupted symbol depicting a triangle, a circle, and a line.

"Oh bugger."


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

_August 1998_

Harry packed his trunk, disappointment and frustration thrumming beneath his ribs. Although he had never held Hogwarts' library in such high esteem as Hermione, he couldn't help but feel annoyed at the lack of answers he found there.

It had been a week since Harry became Master of Death, and he knew what had happened the second he had seen the Stone mending itself. After spending so much of his would-be seventh year obsessed with the Hallows, he was pretty intimate with the lore. He who masters, or possesses (for the lore was often equal parts conflicting and confusing, different sources claiming different things), all three Hallows becomes Master of Death. With the Cloak and the Wand secure in the mokeskin pouch around his neck and the Stone mending itself before his eyes, Harry had figured there was only one way that his fantastic luck would let the story end.

While most of the other volunteers at Hogwarts who were helping rebuild for the upcoming school year had a fair amount of free time, Harry was not so lucky. He was constantly badgered under the guise of congratulations, constant questions and handshakes and letters making him uncomfortable and giving him a constant migraine. He found he could only slip out to the library in the middle of the night, and even then he needed to use the Cloak and the Marauder's Map to make sure he didn't run into anyone. And while it was no problem to research in the middle of the night (he had had trouble sleeping for some time now), he wished that he could research during the day too, if only so that he could cover more ground.

But as it turned out, no matter how much ground he covered, there was nothing to find. Although he would never say it in front of his friends, the Hogwarts Library was unbearably Light. One could hardly find a reference to magic that was anything but sunshine and daisies, and Harry found it incredibly frustrating. Even the Restricted Section was of little help. It was full of vague theories, not actual spells or history, a few slightly odd potions books, and was only moderately Grey. The library was obviously meant to coddle, and Harry suspected it was Dumbledore's doing, as he _knew_ that Riddle had found more questionable tomes in his time at Hogwarts. Didn't anyone understand that when you kept something away from children/teenagers, it only made them want to rebel and seek it out more? And as far as Harry was concerned, all the Light, Grey, and Dark magic crap was just that. But, of course, Saviors don't share such controversial opinions. Especially with their strictly Light friends.

His frustration and irritation grew, and he took a deep breath to make sure he didn't mangle any of the possessions in his trunk. Although in the case of his terrible clothes, it wouldn't be such a bad idea. Now that he was done with his part in the dirty task of repairing Hogwarts (lots of rubble, lots of dust), there was absolutely no excuse to be wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs. Did Gringotts convert galleons to pounds? He still found he preferred Muggle clothing, especially for lounging.

Oh no. _Oh no_. How did he not think of this before? He had totally screwed Gringotts over with the whole blind dragon thing! That was some major property damage, and he _stole_. Goblins _hated_ it when wizards stole from them. They were never going to let him step foot in the bank again, much less answer his questions. And boy, did he have questions for them.

Harry dug around in his trunk, and drew out parchment, some ink, and a quill. He sat at the desk in his private room (thank you McGonagall, _thank you_), and chewed at the end of the quill. How to go about this? Well, he supposed honesty was always appreciated.

_Mr. Head Goblin,_

_As you can probably tell already, I have no idea how a letter like this should be written. In fact, I have no idea if the goblin in charge of Gringotts is even called the Head Goblin. I am inexperienced in matters of Muggle banks, much less magical ones. However, while I may be clueless, I am sincere, and I do hope that you read this letter and do not simply throw it out._

_I apologize for not knowing how to address you, or even who you are. I have honestly no idea how to find that information without asking a goblin, and the only place I know where to find a goblin is at Gringotts, a place I am most cautious to go at the moment. As you have probably already checked the bottom of the letter to see who is writing this awkward thing, you probably know why. _

_I wanted to express my sincerest apologies. I am aware that my actions caused a great deal of property damage to your bank, and may have also damaged your bank's reputation. I hope you know this was not my intention, and that my actions were necessary to defeat Voldemort. I am aware that goblins tend to keep away from wizarding affairs, so I know this may not mean much to you, but I also know that goblins are observant. Even if you have stayed out of the war, you know how great an effect Voldemort has had on the community, and it was only for something so important that I would be so bold as to even attempt to break-in to Gringotts. You also must understand that at the time I was on the run, and if there had been another way to get to the object I needed, I would have found it. But time was of the essence, people were dying, and I was desperate. I ask that you try to understand._

_I admit that I am not very caught up on current events, as conversing with fellow witches and wizards is only tiring for me now, and we all know that the Daily Prophet is unreliable at best. I am unaware of how Gringotts is doing at the moment, but if there is anything I can do to help rebuild, or help in any other way in repayment for my actions, I would be happy to. I just wanted you, and the rest of the staff, to know that I am fully aware of my actions. I have not forgotten, and I am sorry for any trouble that I may have caused in a time that was stressful for us all, involved in the war or not. _

_If you accept my apology, please extend it to your staff, as I am sure that my actions affected them as well. Of course, I would also appreciate a reply, as I am most anxious about this matter. I apologize for taking so long to send this letter._

_Sincerest apologies,_

_Harry Potter_

Well, it wasn't the best, but it would have to do. He was sure he sounded sincere, and that was what was important when it came to apologies, right? Harry hoped goblins shared his philosophy.

Okay, Owlery, then off to Shell Cottage. Hopefully things would work out.

_September 1998_

Staying at Shell Cottage was probably one of the best post-war decisions Harry had ever made. Then again, the competition wasn't that fierce, as Harry's decision-making skills were slightly (er, _very_)questionable. The sounds of waves lapping at the shore was just as soothing as he remembered it to be, and the company was wonderful. After the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, he had always gotten along well with Fleur, and although before now he had not known the eldest Weasley sibling well, he found they were companionable as well. He loved the isolation of the cottage, there was nothing but earth and sea as far as the eye could see, and absolutely no traffic coming through the home.

While his stay at Shell Cottage was peaceful and relaxing, it was also educational. Bill and Fleur were fountains of knowledge on the wizarding world, and Harry learned about all the things he never knew, that people just assumed he did. They also both worked at Gringotts, and though Harry could have kicked himself for not waiting to ask their advice before writing his letter, he wasn't exactly known for his fantastic planning.

And though what he learned was educational, it was also disturbing. How could he have been left so in the dark? He was sure it had to do with Dumbledore. The man had always been overly fond of keeping important things from Harry. Fleur and Bill had both pointed out that Harry should really go to Gringotts to get his vaults in order, as he was now a legal adult in the wizarding community, and had been for over a year. They were appalled that he hadn't talked to a goblin before then, because even before he was old enough to control his vaults, as the last of the Potters he should have at least received a statement about his vaults, and made sure everything was accounted for. They seemed just as disturbed as he that no one had told Harry about any of this before now. As the last Potter, he might have responsibilities that he had been unknowingly neglecting.

Experiencing life in a wizarding home that wasn't the Burrow was also enlightening. Bill had a relatively well-paying job, and Fleur wasn't a stay-at-home mum like Mrs. Weasley, so the household wasn't wanting for money, and it reflected in how they lived. Harry was fascinated with all the magical artefacts in the house that seemed to be everyday items for the average wizarding home. All-purpose cleaner that simply needed to be sprayed on any surface and left to dry and the surface became spotless, brooms that continued sweeping by themselves after you started for them, frying pans that told you when your food was almost done or close to burning, mirrors that gave you fashion advice, and it went on and on. Harry loved it. This was what he had seen when he had first fallen in love with the wizarding world. He loved these inventions, these rare shows of imagination and creativity among wizards. _This _was magic.

Early on in his stay he had given Fleur a pouch of his galleons to exchange to pounds (which she had told him Gringotts did, indeed, do), and gone clothes shopping. Wearing new clothes that fit was one of the best things he had ever physically experienced. Chaffing that he had long-since ignored in his old clothing was now gone, the fabric was soft against his skin, the colors were saturated and unstained, his socks were smooth on his feet and in his shoes instead of overlapping in lumps due to being too big, so less blisters, said shoes fit and didn't have holes (so _no_ blisters), and, perhaps most importantly, for the first time ever he didn't look like he was drowning in his clothes like a street urchin (random-mean-lady-at-the-grocer's words, not his). Which had done nothing but help people spread bad rumours about him, and constantly remind him of his status at the Dursleys (_freak!_) wherever he went. And boy, was it _fantastic_ to have his own underwear. Thank Merlin for that.

A few days ago Harry had received a brief reply from Gringotts with an acceptance of his apology, and a request to meet him at 12:00 today. Bill had taken his measurements and gotten him a nice black robe in his general size that was self-tailoring so that he would have something to wear, as he had only owned his new muggle clothes, his school robes, and his dress robes from fourth year. None of which were fit for the occasion, obviously.

And so now here he was, fidgeting in front of Fleur before the fireplace as she applied glamours that he found incredibly itchy and irritating on his skin. He wished they could have just gone the route of dye and make-up, but Fleur didn't own any of the kind of make-up he would need (as a quarter-veela she had little need for make-up to begin with, and mainly used it for fun, not to hide blemishes), and no one had really wanted to risk screwing dye up. The glamour was necessary as Harry did not plan on getting accosted as soon as he Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron (Gringotts was not connected to the Floo Network for security reasons), and post-war Wizarding Britain was still wary of people with hoods up in the middle of a nice day. So itchy glamour it was. If only it was raining and gloomy.

"Alright, 'Arry, I am done. Do you wish to see?" Fleur asked, stepping back and lowering her wand. Harry nodded and Fleur gestured toward the mirror on the wall. Harry turned and was met with a different version of himself. His hair was a dirty blonde, his eyes were brown, his jaw was more broad and covered in light stubble, and his nose had a little bump at the bridge. Fleur had also changed the color of his glasses to brown, and manipulated their shape a little. His hair was, as always, in front of his scar, although it was messy as always. Harry's hair and his scar never cooperated, it was a fact of life. It was a miracle the glamour had been able to change the colour, although Harry suspected it wouldn't last long, and the glamour on his hair was noticeably more irritating than the ones on his face.

"Wow, Fleur. Well done! Even I can hardly tell I'm me," Harry praised, impressed. He grinned, "I'll definitely be able to get past the crowds now. Thanks, Fleur."

She smiled back. "You know zat it was no problem, 'Arry. Good luck with your meeting, I 'ope it goes well," the woman replied, as accented as ever, even if it was less pronounced than it had been when they first met.

"Thanks, me too." Harry grabbed a handful of the silvery powder, threw it into the fire, waved to Fleur, stepped into the green flames, and called out, "The Leaky Cauldron!"

The ride was as disorienting for Harry as it always was, as he spun quickly and held his breath, making sure not to inhale ash. He kept his eyes closed until he felt the spinning stop, and as per Bill's advice, began to step out of the fireplace just as he was about to stop spinning. There was a little stumble, but that was a vast improvement from the various rolling tumbles he had performed in the past, so Harry counted it as a major success, and mentally thanked Bill, while cursing everyone else for not telling him sooner. He supposed it was a little similar to getting the right rhythm to step off an escalator, or those spinny things Harry had seen Dudley torture children on at the local park. It was probably closer to the spinny things, as he had witnessed many a kid take a tumble when their grips slipped on the bars that stuck out of the round metal platform, and they were sent flying onto the unforgiving mulch. He took a deep breath while looking around the fairly busy pub, stepping away from the fireplace before drawing his wand and waving it over himself to get rid of any ash clinging to his robes (thank you Fleur).

Pleased by the lack of attention he was being given, Harry performed the standard brick-tapping to make his way into Diagon Ally. Spotting the tall white building immediately, he headed directly there. It wouldn't do to be late.

Harry entered the marble hall and approached one of the goblins sitting behind the high counter. The goblin appeared to be weighing precious stones, so Harry waited to be acknowledged. Finally, the goblin looked up and sneered, "what?"

"I'm Harry Potter, I have an appointment to see Gringotts' Head Goblin."

"Key?" The goblin sneered, and Harry slid his vault key across the counter towards the goblin. The goblin examined it for a moment before he passed it back to Harry, saying "follow me."

The goblin lead him to a side door and down a winding corridor with too many turns to an ornate wooden doorway. He knocked on the door, and an irritable "what?" was heard from within.

"Your twelve o'clock appointment has arrived, sir," replied the goblin, sounding much more respectful than before.

"Send him in," was heard from within, and the goblin pushed the door open, gesturing for Harry to enter. Harry thanked the goblin, got another sneer for his efforts, and entered the office. What looked to be a large ornate marble desk sat at the center of the room, with what Harry imagined to be a very old goblin seated behind it. Ornate tapestries and bookshelves lined the walls, as well as mounted weapons and armour. A wooden cushioned armchair was placed before the desk and Harry approached it nervously under the eye of the goblin. "Take a seat." Harry did so.

"Now, Lord Potter-"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, baffled at the address.

"What?" The goblin waspishly replied, looking irritated.

"Did you just call me a _Lord_?" he asked, still feeling pretty unbalanced.

"Well of course, Lord Potter. It is your proper title, and this is a formal setting. What else would I call you?" the Head Goblin snapped, impatience coloring his tone.

"I, well, I don't know! Since when was I a _Lord_? What does that even _mean_?" Harry asked, still feeling off kilter. This was not what he had prepared for when he had given himself that little pep talk in the bathroom mirror this morning (and the mirror had encouraged him right back). Was he destined to be confused his whole life? He hoped not! And people were actually still Lords? Well, he supposed that the wizarding community _was _rather old-fashioned, but what did Lords even do? The only Lord he knew about was the Dark one, and Harry didn't fancy going crazy and ugly and commanding a bunch of idiots.

The goblin across from him looked at him as if he was an idiot. "You became the Lord of House Potter when you gained your full inheritance at seventeen. If I'm not mistaken, according to the will of Sirius Black, you can also claim Lordship over House of Black. As for what it means, _well_," the goblin gave a put-upon sigh and looked as if he really didn't want to be having this conversation. Harry figured this was probably a good time to jump in.

"Look, Mr. Head Goblin, sir, or however I'm supposed to address you, I don't know _anything_. My Muggle relatives weren't fond of teaching me life skills, and nobody in the wizarding world has told me anything. I've been spending all my free time up until now just trying to figure out the basics or staying alive, so I haven't even touched on the whole 'I have finances' thing until just recently. Honestly, I think that I should have had a teacher or someone explain stuff to me like they do with the Muggle-borns when they start Hogwarts, but I only got someone to show me Diagon Ally and get supplies with me. Which was a crap idea, because I hadn't even heard of magic except in Muggle stories until then. So I'm totally in the dark here, sir. I know it's probably really annoying for you, but you gotta pretend that I'm, I don't know, a five year-old Muggle-born that happened to get saddled with all this stuff and explain it to me. Because when I say I don't know anything, I _mean it_. I am totally clueless. But if you start with the basics and go from there, I should catch on fast. Please just _explain_. I don't even know who you are. I'm really tired of being left in the dark." Harry finished his mini-speech on a tired note. He really was sick of being left in the dark.

The Head Goblin looked at him in slight astonishment. "This is unacceptable! You know nothing about your financial or social status?"

"No."

"How has this come to be?"

"Dumbledore, probably," Harry replied sullenly.

The goblin humphed. "I am Rognarok, Head Goblin of Gringotts. You may address me by name as it is my responsibility that this problem was not dealt with sooner. Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, just before I came."

"Good, we are going to be here a while. You are going to learn everything you need to know. This is preposterous."

Harry's head felt like a great lot of pixies had decided to throw a party in it. In other words, terrible. When Rognarok said everything, he meant _everything_.

Over the many hours they had spent in the office, Rognarok had pulled parchment after parchment out of his desk drawer (which seemed to have some very complex enchantments on it) detailing Potter estates, Potter business holdings, Potter vaults, Sirius' will, Black estates, Black business holdings, Black vaults, not to mention both families' investments, proceedings that had occurred when Harry was absent, decisions made by the bank that needed to be approved, various other wills that listed Harry in some regard, and so much more that Harry never wanted to read or sign anything ever again.

They also discussed the warding of Grimmauld Place, which had been something Harry had been concerned with before the meeting. He was afraid that rogue Death Eaters might still know about the property and try something, or there might be traps waiting for him there. Bill had told him Gringotts had an excellent warding team that they occasionally loaned out. However this had lead to them discussing warding the _rest _of the properties Harry now knew he owned, and the fact that he had a team of house-elves he needed to talk to. It was no wonder Harry had a massive headache, what with the massive to-do list he could feel growing against his will.

At some point, Harry had apologized again for his break-in to the bank, which had ended up leading to a discussion about how he had done it, and how security could be improved. Rognarok had swiftly stated that Harry was extremely creative and maybe a little crazy, and someone with his point of view could be a useful addition to their security team. They decided that Harry would consult for Gringotts, trying to find flaws in their security and how to fix them, and doing anything else he could think of to improve the bank in general. It was a pretty loose agreement, but Harry was a pretty loose person in terms of rules and boundaries, and at some point Rognarok must have realized he would get the most out of Harry if he just let him do his own thing.

In these hours a strange friendship formed between the two. Harry found he liked the Head Goblin's dry sense of humor, and Rognarok grudgingly admired Harry's slightly crazy way of thinking, and the way he seemed to view every creature as equals. He seemed to have the ultimate morals. He was righteous, and Rognarok found that he didn't ever want to disagree with the wizard when he was indignant on behalf of others. He imagined this was what had let Harry defeat You-Know-Who when no one else could. He was strong. Goblins admired strength in every sense, not just the physical one.

They came to agree that Harry's consulting for Gringotts would be in exchange for the warding and any other services Gringotts would supply in the future. They were comfortable not putting a set price to their services. Both parties were rich (Harry was quite embarrassed and astonished when he saw the final figures), and they preferred to trade favors rather than money. Money was for business, and Rognarok had stopped addressing Harry as 'Lord Potter' hours ago. They were an odd pair, but neither cared. They both enjoyed each other's company, and that was all they were concerned with.

Harry left for Shell Cottage feeling extremely accomplished. He had achieved a lot today, and Grimmauld was going to be started on first thing tomorrow. He could get out of Bill and Fleur's hair when that warding was done, and start looking through the Black Library that was located in Grimmauld. He was taking charge of his life for once. The ball was rolling. The to-do list was massive, but just _having _a to-do list meant that he knew what he had to do, that he had a goal (other than survival, which was kind of a lame goal), that as he crossed each item off the list, he was one step closer to getting all his shit together for the first time ever. And that felt good. That massive list was a headache, but it also gave him a ridiculous amount of hope.

Harry collapsed onto his bed in Shell Cottage with a massive grin on his face. The house was empty, he had found a note on the mantle of the fireplace saying that Bill and Fleur were going out to dinner, and that they hoped his meeting went well. Well was an understatement. Harry was finally going to be his own man. No one was going to tell him what to do. He was going to make his own decisions, control his own destiny.

He felt fantastic.

**Author's Note: **As you can see we're still getting to the juicy bits, but this was a good place to end the chapter, and this way I update faster, so that's how it's gonna be. I'm not going to speed stuff up unrealistically so that we can get to the real meat of the story faster, because exposition is important and interesting (hopefully) if you let it be. I'm not one to write the entire back-story with flashbacks. That's boring. I'll probably use flashbacks, but I don't want that to be my only device. Diversity is important!


	3. Chapter Two

_October 1998_

These days Harry felt tired a lot, but he also felt energized. He was aware that that wouldn't make sense to anyone else if he tried to explain it, but it was true. He was doing so much these days that he was constantly worn down, but every single thing he did he could practically _see_ the effect of, and that was energizing. Never before had an end really been in sight (unless you count when he was walking to his death, and that had been _morose_, so let's not go there), and now that there was, he found it very nearly made him giddy.

When he did something, it was for him. It was such a basic idea, that when Harry realized that _that _was why he was so happy, it brought him down from his giddy high for quite a few days. Had he really never done something just for him? He thought that the fact that the answer was no was enough to depress anyone. Everything he had ever done (and some things he had avoided doing) in his life had been to please someone else. First the Dursleys, then maybe his primary teachers, then Dumbledore, then his professors, wizarding society, his friends, the Order, the D.A., as he thought the list went on and on.

Even Quidditch had been something he was unceremoniously ushered into by McGonagall and Wood without much of his own input. While he had enjoyed flying itself, playing competitive Quidditch, especially in his first year, had always made him queasy. Seekers were always targeted the most by Beaters, the position was high-pressure, and Wood led grueling practices that usually didn't even have much to do with him. Harry was happiest just flying by himself, or nicking the snitch and chasing it around the pitch without a game or practice going on around him. He supposed the games at the Weasley's might have been fun too, if he were not so afraid of looking like he was showing off, or sparking Ron's jealousy. Fickle thing that.

But now, things were different. Now when he went through a room in Grimmauld, it was just for him. It was so that he could enjoy the house. This was for him. The items he sifted through were his, the rooms he cleaned _he_ would enjoy spending time in, and when he ate the dinner Kreacher prepared at the end of a long day and talked to the house-elf, he knew that in the future Kreacher would have a close bond with _him_.

Of course, his sorting through Grimmauld had really only been what he had been doing in his free time. He had yet to be called into Gringotts to look at their security, but that didn't mean he didn't have a million other things to do. After Gringotts had warded Number 12, he had said his goodbyes and thanks to Bill and Fleur, and immediately moved into the dilapidated residence. After a brief reunion with Kreacher, whom he had not seen since that fateful morning before he had broken into the Ministry, they fixed up one of the impersonal guest rooms together, and settled on the newly cleaned bed for a conversation that lasted well into the night.

Harry told his long tale to Kreacher, explaining why they had not come back that day, what had happened since, that he had not come back before now for fear of Death Eaters attacking him here, and that now that the residence was safely warded, he could use it as home base for a while. Kreacher was grumbly, but understanding, and berated Harry for letting "those filthy goblins drag their filth all over the most Ancient and Noble House of Black's primary residence." He claimed that the Black library had books on wards superior to anything the goblins could cook up, and that the portraits of long-dead Blacks could also give him better warding advice.

Harry then told Kreacher about all that he had learned at Gringotts, including his new status as Lord Black. Over the next few days, Kreacher told him many of the Black family secrets and traditions, and Harry, while appreciative of information, found that his plate was looking to be piled sky-high. Because while Kreacher and the portraits of the house were teaching him things that were undoubtedly priceless, they also informed him of a few more duties the Head of Black had that Gringotts had been unaware of. He didn't even want to think about what would happen when he visited a Potter property.

But even though Harry's days were full to bursting, he still loved every second of it. This was exciting, and he knew that once he had gone over everything that had been left to its own devices for however many years, things would slow down to a comfortable pace. Due to the various positions he held that he was now actively paying attention to, he would never get bored. Harry had a deep dislike for boredom, and he was sure that that was probably one of the only things about him that was normal.

"Kreacher, I'm leaving!" Harry called out, pulling on his suit jacket. Today was a Muggle day.

"Kreacher _knows_, Master Harry. Kreacher is a _house-elf_." Kreacher replied pointedly, after popping up behind him, tugging on the bottom of his jacket to smooth out the rumples.

"Yeah, yeah, Kreacher. No need to get a big head," Harry admonished teasingly, happy with this little morning routine. "Today's a Muggle day, so I'll probably be back around five."

Kreacher responded by shoving him out the door he had snapped open while Harry was talking, grumbling something that Harry was sure was insulting towards him. Ah well.

The streets of Muggle London were a sight Harry enjoyed. He found it refreshing to be among a crowd of people without them recognizing his forehead (or, most recently, his entire body. Thanks _Prophet_). Even more refreshing was their fashion sense. Harry had never really gotten used to wizarding fashion, and now realized that he could really only handle it in small doses before the novelty wore off and he found that everyone just looked silly, out of date, and generally like they had wandered off of a film set. Robes were mighty uncomfortable in the summer and when it was windy or raining. They were terribly good at getting in the way of his arms and legs, which was just irritating when he was trying to get to class on time (or fighting for his life).

Feeling pleased and savvy in his suit, Harry called for a taxi after emerging from the alley he had Apparated into. Harry had figured out pretty soon that walking up to a building where a business meeting was being held looked a little odd to Muggles that knew he was rich. So he had to chuck out the Apparate-into-dark-alley-and-walk-a-block-to-meeting plan, and grab a taxi about five blocks away instead, so he could pull up to the building just like everyone else, and a taxi driver wasn't wondering why someone needed to pay to be driven one block. He didn't need _anyone _catching on to too much strange behavior. That way led to people thinking about and noticing him, and asking questions. He hated questions. He was also rather adverse to confunding and obliviating Muggles all the time as if he wasn't messing with a fellow human's most important organ.

The building was tall and shiny, similar to most of the buildings in which the meetings he had took place. If they weren't tall and shiny they were old and made of stone, proper English things. The lobby had polished marble flooring and a high ceiling. He was sure that yelling would result in a spectacular echo, but suppressed the urge and walked to the front desk instead, shoes clacking.

The secretary's bubblegum-pink lips stretched into a smile as she heard him approach, looking up from the computer monitor in front of her. "What can I do for you sir?"

Harry gave a polite smile back. "I'm here for the ten o'clock conference with the board of directors"

The secretary blinked in surprise and her smile turned hesitant and unsure. Harry could forgive her, seeing as it was one of the best reactions he'd had yet, and she was certainly the nicest secretary he'd come across so far. He'd probably have to mention that at some point. Boards tended to be made up of older men, seeing as they made the big decisions in the company. Harry was 18 years old, and certainly wasn't one of those people who looked older than they were. He'd had various incredibly rude reactions from secretaries, all the way from ignoring him to insulting him to his face and trying to kick him out. This one just seemed like she didn't know what to do and didn't want to step on anyone's toes, which Harry could understand of someone who was near the bottom of the chain of command. So he let his smile broaden a little and continued, "you can call up to confirm if you'd like."

She looked instantly relieved and turned to the phone as Harry perused her desk for entertainment. _Ooooh, candy_. He grabbed a few of powdery white puffy squares from a dish and popped a couple of them in his mouth. _Minty lime. Yum._

Bubblegum seemed to be finishing up her phone call so Harry hastened to swallow and get his directions to the meeting. She was leaning more and more towards the phone dock as she repeated 'Yes sir's, and when the phone finally touched down she turned back to him with another winning smile. "I'm sorry about all that sir. The conference is on floor ten. The elevators are down that hall, and when you get up there all the offices are labeled and the conference room is opposite the elevators. You're gonna have to go through the cubicles to get to it. Did you get all that?"

"I've got it. Have a nice day."

"You too sir!"

The elevator ride provided the perfect opportunity to consume the rest of the minty soft candies, which Harry did happily. No doubt a tedious few hours were ahead of him, so he had to enjoy what he could, while he could. "I hate old people" he muttered around the candies as the elevator dinged. What? It was true.

The sight of beige cubicle upon beige cubicle made him want to jinx himself, but he managed to hide his distaste for the monotony by sliding a politely disinterested expression on his face. Just as the secretary had stated, the opposite wall was covered with frosted glass interrupted by the occasional dark wooden door. Walking past the cubicles, he examined the signs on the doors. _M. Richards, K. Thomson, L. Tiers, oh! Conference! _Harry approached the door with the nameplate stating 'Conference', swinging it open without knocking. They knew he was coming from the call, and he really shouldn't be interrupting anything considering he wasn't late, and they were in a business environment.

Yup. Exactly. Knocking just slowed people down.

Blegh. _Blegh. _Board meetings were such a pain in the arse. Old people had no sense of efficiency. They just argued and argued about the most pointless things! Harry couldn't wait until he fixed electronics around magic so he could videoconference. (He still couldn't believe that nobody had seriously tried it before. Scratch that, he could. Wizards were lazy sons of bitches.) Then he could occupy himself while old people bickered, maybe brew a potion, or clip his toenails or something. Those were always getting in the way and growing too long before he knew it.

Unfortunately he wasn't having much luck with the whole electronics vs. magic thing. He had a hunch that he needed to know everything about how all the different electronics (and magic) worked to get much further, but catching up on years of muggle education (because just studying one thing proved how ignorant he was in everything else, and he felt utterly stupid not knowing things that every muggle his age knew) was proving to be difficult.

And on top of that, Harry was trying to solidify his magical education too. Lately he had been feeling so clearheaded, and realized that he didn't know as much about magic as he should. The first step was going back through all his textbooks and assignments, and then he was going to look at Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, and then go through things they didn't teach at Hogwarts, especially Occlumency. Because the thought of someone getting in his head ever again without him even realizing was just disturbing.

There was so much to do! Harry couldn't believe he had let all of this slide all of those years at Hogwarts, what had he been thinking? Hopefully all the things he had to do would get done. Harry didn't want to get caught with his pants down because of his own ignorance of the world he was a part of. Worlds. Whatever.

Well then. Tonight he'd eat what was sure to be a great dinner, read a few chapters of the Muggle and magical textbooks he'd bought and found, and then he'd clear out another room with Kreacher.

He'd worry about tomorrow when it was today.

**A/N: As you can no doubt tell, this is another one of the history chapters. I suspect that most of them will be this brief, and chapters will get longer again the closer we get to 'present day.' Sorry for the delay getting this out, ideas for oneshots were bugging me and now I've got about five half-written oneshots sitting around on my computer waiting to be finished. I was also working on the timeline for this story, trying to figure out how fast Harry learns things, and when/how things change and progress in the wizarding world. It's gotta be realistic! Hopefully next chapter will be up faster than this one was. This is rambley, so I'll stop now. Review with comments and questions, please!**


	4. Chapter Three

_August 1999_

Harry liked Potter Manor more than he would ever like Grimmauld Place. Merlin knew that even the name sounded less miserable. Although the one thing that still gave him a heart attack...

_Pop! _"Master Harry be's having a letter!"

A series of curses tumbled out of Harry's mouth as he nearly toppled out of his office chair in surprise.

"_Shit_, Tinky! We have got to come up with a better system for that!"

"Tinky is sorry sirs! Tinky is not meaning to upset Master! Tinky is sorry sorry sorry!" Tinky wailed, simultaneously tugging on her ears and bunching up her uniform in her fist. Harry sighed.

"No Tinky, it's not your fault. Come on, stop tugging like that. I just need to come up with something is all, it's not your fault. Calm down Tinky." He soothed, lightly pulling her hands away from their tugging and fisting. The little house-elf was still sniffling, but now he could hear her muttering words like "kind," "generous," and "gracious" frantically under her breath as she bowed, left the letter on his desk, and popped away. When would the house-elves get used to him? Would they ever? He hoped so, the constant panicking was beyond tedious.

Which, he immediately realized, sounded callous. But whatever, it's not like anyone heard the thought. No harm done.

Harry turned back to his desk, eying the Longbottom crest stamped into the red wax sealing the letter. Neville then. It had been getting around the time Harry was expecting something from him.

_Harry,_

_I'm sorry this took so long, preparing for the new year is driving me mad! There's so much to do, I hardly get any time to eat and sleep, let alone write correspondence, no matter how much I may like to._

He chuckled, reading through the rest of the letter. He could tell from the pages that Neville was a happy kind of busy, thrilled for his first year as Herbology Professor. Harry hardly expected anything less, Neville _loved_ Herbology, and Harry knew he'd be a great teacher. Neville was always patient and kind, but could be stern if he needed to be. He'd be fabulous, students would flourish under his teachings just like plants did his well-callused fingers.

Luckily, Harry found himself with more free time than his friend. He'd finally finished taking care of all the backed-up business he needed to take care of. Well, most of it. All of his official business was taken care of, all the things that had to do with his duties and money. He'd also taken care of his little house-elf problem for the most part. The poor things were still pretty jumpy (which was understandable, they'd been left to their own devices for almost two decades), but he and Kreacher were both working on that. Kreacher, for all his grousing, was actually a really good Head Elf (as the house-elves who ran households were generally called), and things almost always ran smoothly.

The only things he hadn't finished taking care of was going through all the things he owned, and finishing all the standard schooling he wanted to have down. While all his properties were in good condition, thanks to Kreacher's new leadership, Harry hadn't had the time to visit them all. And he'd caught up on reviewing all of the things taught at Hogwarts and some Occlumency, but his shields weren't as strong as he'd like, and his Muggle schooling was still in the high school years.

He wasn't about to worry too much about it though. He figured he was learning at a pretty impressive pace, and that had been when he'd been busy with his financial and business affairs. Now that he had so much more free time, Harry figured he will have learned everything he feels he _needs_ to within the next few months. Then he can move on to all the things he wants to learn, and things that have caught his interest. He's looking forward to that.

He leaned back in his desk chair, briefly wishing that it swiveled. Maybe he should go shopping for a new one in a Muggle furniture store? His back was slightly sore from having to lean forward to mark up the latest report he'd been given from Stars United, a company he owned a significant share of and was thus part of a Board that advised the CEO and generally liked to push their weight around. Really, Harry just wanted to keep some (most) of those idiots from sinking the value of his investment in the company.

He admired the view from the large windows that his desk faced. The sky was a beautiful mixture of purples and pinks and golds as the sun set, and the thought flitted across his mind that he should go flying sometime soon. Harry wanted to touch that sky.

A sudden idea sprang into his mind, and he straightened from his slightly slouched position. "Kreacher!"

"Yes, Master Harry," Kreacher mumbled after the standard _pop!_

"Have all the house-elves send ahead a chiming bell – or just the sound of one really – before they pop in to tell me something. No need for them to do it when I've called for them, but have them do it in other situations. They've been giving me so many goddamn heart-attacks I feel like an old man." He muttered the last bit, and Kreacher grinned widely.

"Yes Master," his voice was full of amusement before he popped away, and Harry grumbled a bit before he leaned back in his chair, grabbing _A Guide to Advanced Statistics_ from his desk. He began where he left off, a sigh of relief escaping him.

Another thing crossed off his everlasting to-do list.

**A/N: I know, I know. It should be longer, especially since it took me so long to update. But every time I tried expanding it it got all messed up! We'll see another time jump next chapter, probably at least a year.**


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